


"Memories I would rather forget"

by Kulichevsky



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Survivor Guilt, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26109949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kulichevsky/pseuds/Kulichevsky
Summary: Líf is trying to sleep, but his memories do not let him do that.
Relationships: Líf & Summoner | Eclat | Kiran
Kudos: 14





	"Memories I would rather forget"

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am not writing in my native language, so there may be some mistakes or nuances I could've overlooked. Would be greatful if people could point them out to me!  
> And, well, it's my first ever posted fic, so I'm not used to sites like these yet. That's about it!

The thick air of a hot summer evening smelled of dust and pollen. The window was open, yet completely covered by deep-brown curtains that almost stopped all light from coming in. First cicadas and crickets began their symphony, announcing the arrival of night. Then dusk covered all; the dried-out mud, the yellow, sunburnt grass, and the marble that only now began to cool off. A small gust of wind crawled from outside the curtains and tickled the unkempt fur of a cloak resting on a chair. The cloak’s owner rested on a bed beside it, holding his hands on his chest together, much like an ancient mummy. The bed in question was never properly used: it was made once, but since then the person sleeping on it neither bothered to cover himself with a blanket, nor tried to keep it neatly. He himself thought of it as a coffin, and each day wished that he’d not wake up. Nevertheless, he did.  
Líf doesn’t need to breathe at all. He has no lungs – well, in human sense – most of his body was a twisted fusion between flesh, bone, magic and steel. Sometimes, he’d put a hand inside the azure substance in his chest, feeling his ribs or spine, seeking at least something resembling blood. Sadly, all that this skeleton remembered was scars and chipped bone.  
He breathed for fun, if one could call it such. He tried remembering smells and keeping track of new ones. Líf was used to harsh smell of steel and smoke, the reeking of deathly swamps and forests. He appreciated his ability to feel disgust to some extended, as he considered suffering a necessity.  
Now though, in this dark, unbearably stuffy room he felt much worse than in the Land of the Dead.  
The past cuts deeper than any blade, it’s more persistent than any assassin. It is one’s shadow, a part that cannot be separated from one’s soul.  
Everything in this room was despised by Líf: all the furniture, the curtains, even the dust slowly collecting on the walls and the windowsill. It made him remember. He felt a deep connection to every inch of this place, but it was awfully uncanny. This closeness poisoned him and numbed all other feelings besides anguish.  
His mask was lonely sitting on the edge of the table, not too far away from the bed. He could just put it back on and at least try to silence the hated smells and feeling, but chose not to. One dream scratched very deep under Líf’s skull, preventing him from letting the pain go.  
He sighed, closing his eyes.  
It’s really hot.  
Nothing in this Askr belonged to him. He was merely a guest, and the fact again and again brought new colours to Líf’s thoughtful suffering. The fallen prince already tried ripping this reality from Alfonses hands and failed. To think about it… how many sins DID Líf commit, anyway? And why does this reality allow him to stay, denying him endless agony?  
His hands started to get heavy. He slowly drifted away from the present, flying far, far from here, to the only place where the feeling of guilt didn’t gnaw him. He saw it so clearly: blue skies, gentle smiles, the sound of footsteps on wooden floor… that were getting closer.  
Líf opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times, peering into the hidden from light white ceiling. He knew someone was at the door, not moving, not talking, but just standing there. The fallen prince neither had energy, nor desire to speak. He began waiting, hoping that the intruder would think that no one is here and go back to where they came from.  
“I know you’re in here, you can’t hide forever.” That was the Summoner’s tired voice. Of course. Who else could it be but him?  
Líf sat down on the edge of the bed, covering his face with his hand. Tips of his fingers tightly gripped the skin, and, after a deep sigh, he dragged the hand from the forehead to the chin, in hopes of clearing any remaining sleep.  
“It’s not closed,” the fallen prince growled, and then put on his mask in a hurry.  
Door hinges quietly creaked, and the tip of Summoner’s cloak peeked into the room.  
“… Can I come in?”  
“Like I can stop you.” He propped up his head with his arms and suddenly realized how really sleepy he was.  
The Summoner slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. Then put his back against it and held his hands together, trying to think of a thing to say. An awkward silence filled the atmosphere. Líf couldn’t see it, but he knew that the Summoner was desperately looking around the room.  
“So, uh… Had a productive day today?”  
“Just get it over with. Tell me why you graciously paid me a visit.”  
“Fine,” the Summoner shrugged with defeat, “You win. I came to ask you one question.”  
“What in my training displeased you? You don’t want to be around me in public or something?”  
“First, do not interrupt me. Second, do not dramatize a simple request. I just want to talk, do you understand me?”  
“I don’t need your pity. I am already doing everything you ask, what more could you possibly want?”  
Líf felt a strong gaze of disappointment and unwillingly lowered his head. Perhaps… his Summoner would do the same. He could not stand being disrespected. There were even times when certain newly summoned heroes didn’t respect his authority, and regretted it afterwards. However, the Summoner was Líf’s friend, his best friend.  
“I was going to ask if you’d like to go on patrol with Sharena tomorrow.” From his voice it was obvious that the Summoner was trying his best to stay calm, “I thought you’d like to.”  
He was partially correct. Líf did miss his sister greatly. How long has it been since they laughed, smiled together? When really were the times when he and Sharena would visit festivals, go on mission, or simply chat? He knew she wouldn’t reject him. She was simply too kind to do so. And yet, this person wasn’t really his sister. Seeing her would just make the wounds bleed harder.  
How many times did Líf let the past sting him? It was like the beginnings of madness, a fading echo that caused a massive avalanche. At first the fallen prince was filled with rage: he felt as if he needed to stand up and tell the Summoner exactly what he thinks about such nonsense. But then he suddenly realized that he could not. Not one muscle in his body listened to this impulse. An immense grief replaced his anger, and he became almost petrified, uncertain what to say or do with himself.  
Líf came back to his senses after the Summoner moved closer to him, waiting for a reaction. He looked more worried than anything.  
“Do you know what I find the most difficult to do every day?”, the fallen prince suddenly stood up, trying to avoid eye contact.  
There was no response to this question.  
“It’s waking up and looking at the person in the mirror.”, Líf continued anyway, briefly pointing to a mirror covered up by cloth in the corner of the room. “The first action makes me wish for oblivion, the second lets me think about all the ways I could just end it all. I cannot die. I am cursed. I… I am undeserving of even being here in the first place.”  
“That’s what you truly think?”  
“I’m sure of it.”  
Líf unhurriedly walked up to the window, and, after a moment of hesitation, raised the curtains a little bit. He peeked outside just enough so no one could see him. A tiny gust of wind slipped through, and he closed his eyes.  
The sun had almost rolled behind the horizon, leaving trails of velvet clouds in the sky. The stars were starting to glimmer. Verdant leaves rustled on the wind. Familiar voices could be heard from beneath, but Líf didn’t bother to listen to their conversations.  
“I won’t be of much help.” Uttered he after a while of thinking, “I won’t be able to handle it.”  
“Don’t you realize that she won’t hate you?”  
“I do. I mean, if YOU are willing to befriend me, she’s going to as well.” Líf turned his head to the Summoner, who was already standing beside him and frowned. “Look at me. I am not going to act normally. It hurts too much. Being close to somebody is my weakness, after all.”  
“You look tired, Alfonse.”  
“It is no longer my name.” He looked at his hands and rubbed his thumbs against the index fingers, “It has no relevance to me. I am Líf.”  
“Aren’t you hiding behind that name?”  
“No longer. Now it’s grown into me, it grew roots deep inside me. I cannot go back.”  
“If you’re not Alfonse anymore, why do you cling to the past anyway?” the Summoner shrugged, “Think about it. The whole Zenith is before you. Now that you’re free from Hel, there—  
“--There is no place for me in this world.” Líf finished his sentence, also interrupting him, “Even here I am an outsider. All I have is my blade and experience. I can do nothing but fight for you. What, you are mocking me now?”  
“I want to help you!”, the Summoner grabbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Líf was most certain that he was trying to keep the curses from escaping his mouth. The fallen prince was a little bit ashamed by his words, but pride didn’t let him show it.  
“Wait. Wait, wait” the Summoners face lit up, and one moment later his frustration with Líf disappeared.  
“What do you have in mind?” the fallen prince knew he isn’t going to like what the Summoner had to say.  
“What if there WAS something else besides fighting you could do? Maybe you just don’t know it!”  
“… What?”  
“ I could find you something else to do. Let’s see… you need something in the open air, where no one was to bother you…”  
“Are you… You are going to make me into a clown, aren’t you?”  
“No! Not at all. I’m trying to come up with something that could suit you. Something that could potentially make you feel better. Even a tiniest bit”  
Líf was furious. He clenched his fist so hard it started to shake.  
“Didn’t you say you have nothing to lose?”  
“It’s pointless.” Finally said Líf ,“All of it is pointless.”  
“How do you know? You haven’t even tried it! You don’ even know what you’re going to do… ‘Cause I don’t know either.”  
“That would disrespect the dead. I cannot stop my suffering, or else their deaths would stop having any meaning.”  
“Isn’t it time to let them go?”  
The Summoner put his hands in the air to stop Líf from doing anything rash.  
“It doesn’t, however,” he continued to stand like this, calmly explaining his point, “make them any less important. They are a part of you, but I’m begging you to understand… You’re here. And since you’re here, you live. In addition to that, you can’t die, so…”  
“Enough.” Líf pointed to the door, cutting off any remaining conversation to be had. The fallen prince took away the Summoner’s opportunity to finish the sentence, and continued talking quietly, but without losing fury in his voice. “Leave me. I will go to tomorrow’s mission and act like none of this happened.”  
The now defeated Summoner sighed and slowly walked to the door, but stopped as he reached for the door knob.  
“I’m not going to beg you anymore, but…” he didn’t turn, but stood there. When he noticed that Líf didn’t silence him, the Summoner talked for the last time, “But I think none of them would actually want you to suffer. If you change your mind, I’m not going to hesitate aiding you.”  
Finally, he angrily slammed the door and left, leaving Líf all to himself. The fallen prince plopped onto his bed and let out an annoyed sigh.  
All of it was pointless. It was useless and foolish, sure, but he felt as though he was the biggest fool of them all. What did he need to do to get rid of his wish for acceptance? The more he distances himself from this vile society? The ghosts of the past keep haunting him, replacing the living with the visions of the dead. It never stops. It cannot be stopped. Is… there even a fleeting distraction from pain?  
He found a new answer to this question, much to his dismay. Despite it’s meaningless, repulsive nature, Líf kept it in mind. After all, it was true that he never had an opportunity to try something else…


End file.
